


Phoenix Street

by Quietbang



Category: Marvel, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- Powered, Corruption, Crime, Disability, F/F, F/M, Gen, Journalism, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mutant Rights, Prejudice, age disparity, police work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietbang/pseuds/Quietbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is activism, snark, murder, and quite a lot of swearing. Written for a prompt on the kink meme requesting Cop!Erik and College Student!Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt:  
> Erik and Charles meet when Erik is investigating a murder at Charles's university. Charles is a helpful witness who keeps getting called back for more statements (or he remembers something helpful) and they end up spending quite a lot of time talking. Eventually Charles asks Erik if, after the case is solved, would he like to go out for coffee?
> 
>  
> 
> So, a murder mystery, and awkward yet cute dates between a uni whiz-kid and far-too-serious-for-his-own-good detective :)

_17:51, 01-12-2012. Official Transcript, NYDOEM  
\--click--  
Hello, Office of Emergency Management. Please state your emergency._

 _She's dead. Oh God, she's dead. There's- Oh, God._

 _Sir? Sir, please try and stay calm. Can you tell me where you are?_

 _She's really dead, oh God, so much blood-  
Sir. Sir, please, can you tell me where you are?  
Um. Yeah. Um. 54th and Phoenix. 227a. She was just a girl, oh my God, she's-  
Sir, help is on the way. Please stay on the line until I tell you to hang up, alright?  
God- Um, yes, I mean, yes, I can do that.  
Are you in need of medical attention?  
\--silence--  
Sir? Are you hurt?_

 _\--silence---  
_  
___________________________________________________________________________________  
 _Reports are coming in of a massive psychic disturbance in the area surrounding 54th and Phoenix, with hundreds believed to be affected. No casualties have been reported._  
______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _Police believe tonight's psychic disturbance to be the result of an inappropriately inhibited telepath--_

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _A body has been found on 54th and Phoenix, believed to belong to 18 year old Jubilation Lee, a registered mutant. Police are thus far not willing to rule out the possibility of homicide._

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _The Mutant Protection League has released a statement regarding the believed murder of Jubilation Lee. The body of Ms. Lee, an 18 year old student at Columbia, was found this morning at the headquarters of the Columbia University Human-Mutant Alliance. Eyewitness accounts say that Ms Lee had apparently sustained massive cerebral trauma from a suspected telepathic attack. Police have refused to comment._

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _Mourning in the mutant quarter tonight with police confirmation that the New York Mutant community has been victim of yet another mutation-based crime. Ms Lee, an 18 year old biology student, was found dead this morning at the headquarters of the much-maligned Columbia University Mutant-Alliance by the club's president and co-founder, 22 year old activist Charles Xavier. Xavier has been taken in for questioning; no word yet on whether he is considered a suspect._

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _It'll be a tough case for the newly formed NYPD Mutant Division, created on order from Mayor Rogers after the sharp rise in hate crimes against mutants in this city since the passing of Congress' controversial Mutant Registration Act. The Act is hardly the first attempt made by the federal government at controlling the so-called mutant menace since their discovery in the late 1960s, but it is certainly the most far reaching. It has been criticised by activists on both sides of the aisle as being alternately either a violation of human rights not seen on American soil since the internment of Japanese-Americans during the Second World War, or as awarding too many so-called 'mutant rights'. More on this after the break..._

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _..And join us at eleven, when we'll be speaking with Professor Sebastian Shaw, a professor of medicine at Columbia University and author of several well-received – if controversial- books on the mutant threat and the perils of mainstreamed education. Professor Shaw will be giving us his take on the rationale behind the recent spree of mutant-based hate crimes._

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _\--riiing--_

 _\--riing--_

 _\--riing--_

 _\--click--_

 _Hello?_

 _Erik?_

 _What?_

 _Where the fuck have you been?_

 _Asleep, Moira. It's my day off, remember?_

 _Not anymore, it's not. Have you been watching the news?_

 _No, I've been_ sleeping _. What is it?_

 _Get your ass down to the station- we've got another probable hate crime, and if you don't get here soon, Fury's gonna give it to Stryker._

 _Fuck. ...Alright. Be there in ten._

 _You're gonna want to grab some coffee. This is going to be a long one._

 __Great _. See you._

 _\--click--  
_________________________________________________________________________________  
 _William Stryker_  
“It wasn't a telepathic attack.” _

Stryker snorted. “Oh? And how would you know that, boy? Something you're not telling us?”

He would not have thought it possible, but Xavier went even paler, the guilty fucker.  
“It would have left a trace,” he says quietly, eyes blank. “I would have felt it. Someone wants you to _think_ it was a telepath.”

“See, the funny thing about that, boy, is that our best telepaths are on the case, and they say it'll take them at least a few mroe hours to pick anything up.”

The boy blinked. “Guess you need better telepaths, then.”

“Hmph.” He glances down at the file in his hand. “Says here you missed your last appointment for chip adjustment.”

“I rescheduled. I was proctoring an exam.”

“Mm. It also says you've got quite the little record, here.”

The boy doesn't say anything.

“Including... ooh, looky here- an accusation of aggravated assault. Would you call yourself a _violent_ person, Xavier?”

“I was acquitted and a juvenile. You can't have that.”

“And yet, I do... funny how that works. Oh, and don't try to read my mind, you mutie freak- there are telepathic inhibitors built into the walls.”

“Look. A girl is _dead_. She was a friend of mine, and I want to help you, but I can't if you don't let me. So tell me the truth, detective- do I need a lawyer?”

“Depends on how _guilty_ you feel.”

The boy purses his lips, and clenched his hands in his lap. “I think I would like my phone call now, please.”

The door burst open. _Great_.

“We're in the middle of an interrogation, here-” he starts hotly, until he see's who it is.

Great. Rogers' fucking Wonder Twins, here to save the day.

Lehnsherr doesn't even spare him a glance, his eyes moving right over him and onto the kid.

“You're off the case, Stryker,” he snaps. “Fury's orders.”

Stryker flushed hotly. “This ain't your-” he begins.

Lehnsherr cuts him off with an eye roll. “Frost just reported in. It wasn't a telepathic attack. Which means _someone_ wanted to make it look like it was- someone human, probably, and the trace strong emotions found suggest a hate crime. It's under my division. You're off the case.”

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _Moira_  
Erik looks like hell. Which made sense, because that was how Moira _felt_ ; this was the sixth mutant-based hate crime this month.  
18\. 18 years old, dead from cranial trauma designed to look like a telepathic attack. Body found by one of the most powerful telepaths in the state. Fuck.

She needs a vacation. Somewhere warm, where the sun beats down and the air smells like salt andshe can drink mai-tais and _sleep_.

She's running on empty, and so is Erik, and she can't help but wonder if they might have solved these cases sooner otherwise, if they were just too exhausted, too angry, to see it all. If they were missing things.

They can't screw this up. There are too many factions, in the police and outside, waiting for them to fall, watching their every move with baited breath.  
Fuck them. A girl is dead, and they're going to do their fucking jobs.

She accepts the proffered coffee with a wordless murmur of thanks. It has taken them years to get to this point, the point where they work better together than any other team in major crimes, to the point where they were made into the bloody poster child for human-mutant cooperation, an irony if there ever was one, when Moira thinks back to some Erik's more – intense – rhetoric in the first months of their cooperation.

Erik really does look awful. Normally- well, normally he's got one of those _faces_ , the kind that looks good with a bit of scruff, but now he looks _old_ , tired and old and utterly sick of this bullshit. Moira doesn't blame him

“We got any witnesses?” Over the years, Erik has perfected the art of speaking seemingly while drinking. Moira suspected it may be a particularly useless secondary mutation. Or maybe a tertiary one- the junior officers at the station would probably tell you that Erik's secondary mutation was being really fucking scary.

“Just the one who called it in- Charles Xavier, registered telepath, second-”

“-I know who he is.”

“You do?”

Erik looks at her like she is from another planet. “Of course I do. He was in the _Post_ last week- he runs that website, the Coalition for Genetic Diversity?”

“Oh, sorry, I should have realised you'd be up on your shitty activist blogs. I swear, sometimes I wonder if you missed your calling as a poli sci student-”

“Isn't that part of our _job_? And it's not bad, as far as college kid stuff goes. Some of it's pretty juvenile, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. He got a record?”

“Nothing major- a few offences for underage drinking, some sealed juvenile stuff, nothing that indicates a propensity for violence.”

“Time of death?”

“8:15 AM, roughly five minutes before Xavier called it in. He probably witnessed the whole thing.”  
Erik nods. “Let's go, then.”

______________________________________________________________________________________  
 _Erik_

Fucking Stryker. The kid looks like hell- white-faced and swaying with exhaustion, hands clenched tightly around the arms of his wheelchair, and _fuck, is that blood on his face?_

“Charles Xavier?”

“Yes?” The kid looks at him, but his eyes are blank. Clearly in shock. Erik softens his tone.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The kid nods jerkily, but says nothing. Then- “Am I a suspect?”

Erik looks at him. He is silent for a long moment. Then- “No. No you're not. Tell me what you know.”

The boy takes a deep breath, and begins.


	2. Chapter 2

_Erik_.  
The boy rubbed his eyes blearily. “Um, right, so- God, I'm sorry, I'm just not sure where to begin- I. It's all a little hazy.”

Moira smiles sympathetically. “Start at the beginning. How did you know the victim?”

“Jubilee? I've only know her for a few months- she's a freshman. Or- was, I guess. She came out to one of our outreach days and just kinda... stuck around. Nice kid. Friendly. Eager, too- she came earlier to the meetings than me, half the time, so we gave her a, a job, sort of- she opened up the centre every morning and got things started, did some administrative trivia, that sort of thing. I don't like leaving anyone alone at headquarters, especially now, but she seemed responsible enough, so I didn't see any harm. I tried to only leave her alone for a few minutes...”

“The Centre being where you found the victim? 221A 54th and Phoenix? ”

“Yeah. Um, the lease isn't in my name, but, yes, it's the headquarters of the Mutant-Human Alliance.”

“That's where you met, then.”

“Yes.”

“Why not leave her alone? Didn't you trust her?”

The boy smiles slightly. “Why, Officer, I don't know if you've heard, but we're _mutants_ /”

His tone of mock horror almost makes Erik smile. Almost.

“And?”

“ _And_ a lot of people don't take too kindly to that. We've had some threats, some grafitti, that sort of thing- I don't want to take risks. I- I- I never wanted anyone to get hurt, you know?”

His voice breaks a little on the last word.

Erik clears his throat. “The threats. They weren't in your file.”

Xavier attempts a watery smile. “Funny, that. I called it in every time.”

Something tightens in Erik's chest. “Has anyone been hurt before? In the organization, I mean?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, but not- never mind. You wouldn't understand.”

Erik twists his finger, and the metal in the boy's chair begins to vibrate. “Try me.”

His eyes widen. He lets out a soft intake of breath, his lips parting in a way that- _is not remotely attractive, Lehnsherr, he's 22 and a fucking witness, get a hold of yourself._ God, he needed to get laid.

“You're the new division. Hell, I'm sorry, I should have-”

“-It's alright,” Moira says, “You're having a pretty rough morning yourself.”

The boy slumps against his chair. “Yes, yes I am. Not as bad as Jubilee, though...” he trails off, and his eyes go blank. He gets a hold of himself. “Anyway, yes. We've had some break-ins, some bashings... nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Why not move to the mutant quarter?”

“Pardon me, Detective, but I believe that would rather be missing the _point_ , wouldn't it?”

Maybe, but it might have avoided this morning for a little longer, Erik thinks, and is foolishly grateful for the telepathic inhibitors built into the interrogation room.

“Sorry,” Xavier is saying again. “I didn't mean to snap. I'm- well, anyway. I don't know how much help I can be- I didn't see anyone.”

He hesitated, white teeth biting down against cherry red- _fuck's sake, Lehnsherr, stop it._

“But?” Moira prompts.

“I- I felt the whole thing. I felt her die. It was- slow.”

Jesus. Erik blinks, trying to take in the horror of that statement. “Did you get anything about the attacker?”

He sighs. “I- I don't know. It was- hazy, like there was something blocking me. Just- flashes, and emotions, no thoughts, nothing- if I felt them again, could recognise them, but for now- I don't know what to tell you. She was too upset- too much pain for me to get a read on anything else, that- um, when we're in pain, we're not thinking clearly, and the- the attacker went for her face, but they wanted her alive, so- well, they made it hurt, and- and that was all I could get. It was... Jubilee knew them, though, I can tell you that much.”

Erik tried to hide his disappointment. “Anything else?”

“They- they weren't _angry_. They were- determined, but, it was cold somehow. Detached, almost like-”

“Like?” Erik prompted. Fuck, he hated telepathic evidence.

“Like they were waiting for something. For orders, maybe.”

Erik sighed. “But you think that if you saw them, you would recognise them?”

“If I felt them, yes. I believe I could.”

Well, this hasn't been a total waste, then.

“What about family?” Moira asked. “Did she have any she was close to?”

Xavier rubbed his eyes. “Like I said, I didn't know her that well- your best bet would be to talk to Piotr Rasputin or Katherine Pryde. They should be able to help you. I'm sorry, detectives. I really am.”

Erik huffed. “Don't worry about it. You've been very useful.” he hands him his card. “Give me a call if you can think of anything else. Uh-” he glanced at the chair. “-Do you need to call someone to come pick you up?”

“I'll be fine, thank you.” he smiled briefly. “I need to get to campus, anyway. There are people- well, they shouldn't hear this from the news, if they haven't already. I'm free to go, then?”

Erik nodded. “Keep that card,” he ordered gruffly.

The boy smiles slightly. “I will,” he promises. He manoeuvres out from beneath the table, and Erik sees all of him for the first time. Small and slender, the slimness of his legs not quite covered by the baggy corduroy trousers, and a white t -shirt emblazoned with a stylised image of a double helix of DNA in bright, rainbow colours, recognisable to anyone who followed the news as the symbol for the Coalition for Genetic Diversity.

It's long sleeves were streaked with rust brown, as was the neck, which bore a fine net of pinkish-grey  
stains: Erik only hoped the kid made it home before realising it. He let out a sigh when he saw that he hadn't moved, and was instead staring at Erik with too-bright eyes.

“Go,” Erik ordered roughly. “Move it. You have our number.”

“Shouldn't I- aren't I in trouble?”

“Why? What did you do?”

“My chip, I mean- I really did _mean_ to reschedule, I've just been so damnably busy lately-”

“-Do you _want_ your inhibitor increased?” The comment was mostly sarcastic on his part, but he was genuinely curious: some of them did, the telepaths and empaths especially. Anything to subdue the buzz of a perverse world.

“What? No! God, no, I just-”

“Go. It's not my department, I don't give a fuck.”

The boy chewed on his lip, and he really had no right to have lips like that and be 22 and have witnessed a murder. If anyone was going to _look like that_ in front of Erik, they really ought to be at least 35 and- he doesn't know- something _respectable_ , not a fucking witness.

“I- I wouldn't want to get you in trouble.”

Erik rolls his eyes. “I didn't see anything. Stryker neglected to inform me that you'd been inappropriately inhibited- which is true, by the way, but only because he was distracted by his hard-on for beating on another _mutie_ \- so how was I to know that you weren't to leave yet? Now, shoo.”

He reached over to push the chair towards the door, then thought better of it. “Get out.”

The boy did as he was told.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  


Charles blinked in the late-afternoon sunlight, bright and cold, and quietly fell to pieces. He was shaking, he knew that, and fields of grey danced in front of his eyes- he was in no state to go to campus today.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
 _\--beep--_

 _\--Hello?_

 _Charles? God, Charles where have you been? Everyone's terrified, they're saying Jubilee is-_

 _-They're telling the truth. I just left the police station._

 _What? Why?_

 _I'm the one who found her. Jubilee. It was at headquarters._

 _That's what they were saying, but no-one knew for sure- God, Charles, are you alright?_

 _Not really, no._

 _Alright. --swallow-- Alright. Where are you? Do you want me to send someone to come get you?_

 _What? No, no, I'll be fine, I'll just-_

 _Where are you?_

 _Hm?_

 _Where are you?_

 _Oh, uh, the precinct on 54th and Winchester. I can take the bus, Raven-_

 _Like fuck you can. I'm gonna send Azazel- you stay where you are._

 _Yeah, yeah._

 _Oh, and pick up some burritos on your way._

 _What?_

 _Grief makes people hungry. See, I learned **something** from your mother. _

_I shudder to think. Burritos? Really?_

 _Yeah, they're Kitty's favourite. Have you spoken to her yet?_

 _...No? I've been in the station since 8 in the morning. I can't say that I'm looking forward to that, either._

 _Do you want me to do it?_

 _\--sigh--_

 _Charles?_

 _Yeah. Yeah, I do. I'll call round their end later, but right now-_

 _Kay. Don't forget the memorial MSG._

 _...Raven? Are you okay?_

 _\--silence--_

 _No, but there's too much to do right now. I can be upset later, alright?_

 _Fair enough._

 _Bye._

 _Take care.  
\--beep--_

 _ _14:23, 01-12-12_ **In the Name of Jubilee** , by Charles Xavier. Retrieved from htttp://geneticdiversity.org/2012-01-12/in-the-name-of-jubilee.html/_

By now you have all heard of the tragic death of Jubilation Lee, better known to many of us as Jubilee. I know I speak for all of us here when I say that our thoughts and prayers are with her family at this tragic time.

Jubilee is, of course, only one in a long line of casualties of hate and fear. That we live in a world where young people, in the prime of their life, may be cut down so brutally by hatred is something that we, as mutants and as humans, have come to accept. It is our lot in life, it seems sometimes, to be feared, to be misunderstood, and to be feared and misunderstood is to be hated.

This is appalling. This apathy dishonours the memories, not only of Jubilee, but of Sarah Paxton, of Jeremy Hardy, of Lucia Montez, of James Sullivan, and of the hundreds and thousands of others who have given their lives freely to a fearful world. No longer.

There are those who would argue that what we do here is pointless. Those that say that to ally with the humans is to lose the battle before it begins. There are those who would- and have- compared me to a collaborationist with Vichy, or a Jewish Kapo. These comparisons- aside, of course, from being offensive in that they diminish the true nature of those very real events- are baseless.

Time and time again, our species has shown what it does to those whom we fear. The reaction of the dominant culture when they feel their way of life is being threatened has always been violence. It would be strange if it was different when dealing with mutants.

And yet, there are those in our community whose destructive power is great. No more dangerous, of course, than a non-mutant with a gun, but dangerous none the less- what do you suppose the response would be if we fought back violently? Well, friends, we need only look at the response to similar movements throughout history- the civil rights movement, the Silent Revolution, the Indian Revolution- to see that fighting fire with fire will get us nowhere. _Peace always wins out._ One way or another, over time, love will always be louder than hate. Hope will always be more powerful than fear. Optimism will always be stronger than despair.

It is not an easy path, the one we have chosen. It is a road paved with heartache, with pain and bloodshed and prejudice, but we _can rise above it_. **We have the power to be the better people.**

And yet I have committed a grievous sin here, in this very blog post. As so many have recently, I have made a personal tragedy into an ideological one.

Jubilation Lee was not a poster child for a cause. Her death is not a blow to the movement- except insomuch as it is- as it is a _personal_ tragedy to her friends and her family.

The mutant community in this city is rather close knit. You would be hard pressed to find anyone who does not remember Ms Lee and her fireworks, her love of music, her passion for all things colourful. She was well liked- as a student, as an employee, as a friend and as a partner. I have spoken to many people today who mourn Ms Lee, whether they knew her well or not, loved her or not, and have yet to hear a word said against her. She was 18, on the cusp of a bright future, and it was brutally taken away from her well before her time.

Tonight, we gather in Santiano Park to celebrate her life; to mourn, to grieve, but also to hope, and to _promise_ that her death will not go unnoticed or unmentioned by history, that her sacrifice will not be in vain, and to remember that, working together, humans and mutants alike, we can stop this from happening again.  
We meet at 7:30 by the Huguenot Monument.  
Keep safe, keep the faith. I hope to see you tonight.  
Rest in peace, Jubillee. I hope you're sparkling now.


	3. Chapter 3

_Raven_  
It was fucking _freezing_.

Raven maintained she was not built for this weather. Her blue form did a great job of protecting her from heat, but, well- Raven has never been much of a science student, but even she couldn't fail to realise that it was a little... lizardy. And where do lizards live? In the fucking _desert_ , that's where, not in complete fucking bullshit New York fucking City in fucking _January_.

Yeah, maybe Raven has a bit of a problem with the cold. For the dozenth time that evening, she looks at Charles- who has showered and changed, thank God, and really the minor mental breakdown he'd had when he realised that he was _wearing_ Jubilee's _brain_ had only lasted fifteen minutes at the most- and rolls her eyes. He has refused her offer of a blanket at least six times, growing progressively more testy with each offer. Fine, whatever, let him get frostbite in his legs, see if Raven cared.

“Remind me why we're doing this outside?”

Surprisingly, it wasn't Charles who answered- he seemed a million miles away, and Raven guessed he was doing his perimetre check, which was necessary if a little disturbingly mind rape-y- but Sean, who gestured up at the sky, where a helicopter hung low, shooting footage of the gathered couple hundred mutants, candles flickering in the snow. “That's why.”

Raven snorted, but said nothing. She continues to be both alarmed and vaguely impressed by her brother's latent Machiavellian tendencies.

“Not Machiavelli,” Charles murmured, eyes still far off. “Marshall Macluhan, actually. Maybe- oh bugger, Raven, you'll know this, I _should_ know this- first gay man elected to public office, got shot by another council member- you know, him.”

“ _Harvey Milk?_ ” Raven said scathingly, because what the fuck, Charles?

He winced defensively. “That'd be him, yeah. Oh god, they're taking away my membership card, aren't they?”

Sean snorted.

Raven smacked him.

“Jesus fuck, I can't take you anywhere.”

Behind her, Alex hooted. “Queer studies in the hooouse!” he hollered mockingly.

Raven flipped him off.

Angel snorted. “No, Alex, that was called being an informed citizen. She'd have to be talking about Judith Butler or something to justify that.”

“-No, still too mainstream,” Sean cut in. “Wouldn't she be talking about oppression theory? She seems to spend an awful lot of time reading about oppression theory.”

“Sorry, did I just hear a music student judging my intellectual choices? Because that's just not funny.”

“- _anyway_

“I'm pretty sure she was just calling you a manipulative prick, which, no offense Charles, you kind of are,” Angel supplies.

Charles blinks. “If it saves us from another _incident_ , Angel, I don't particlarly care what you call me.”

“You're worried, then.”

“Yeah. Look, I'm doing my best to make sure it doesn't happen, but on the off chance there is blood shed tonight- which I think we all know is sadly likely- yeah, I want the cameras here. And if there isn't, they should be here anyway. People need somewhere to grieve- together- and someone needs to bear it witness.”

“I thought you said that this wasn't about ideology?” that came from Jean, who was slender and young and _whole_ and looked at Charles like he knew the secrets of the universe. Or possibly spent his free time saving kittens and farting marshmallow rainbows.

Charles sighed. “It isn't but it is, Jean. It's a matter of, of grief and responsibility and, and mourning, but ...”

He trailed off. Raven winced in sympathy, because Charles has changed a lot in the years she has known him, but he remains stubbornly blind on some things. Charles, who would lay down his life for the cause without hesitation, and so spent his life trying to ensure that it _would never come to that_. Charles, who believed- truly _believed_ \- that peace was possible. Charles, whose particular form of arrogance was not that he thought that he was the only one who could change the world but that he believed no-one else was willing to _try_.

Raven wonders, sometimes, how many times that belief will have to come back to bite him in the ass before he gives it up. What will happen then? She wishes he would let her protect him, but... He won't let her _help_ him, not even in the first dark days after his injury. She is still a child to him, and probably always will be.

(Pride, damned pride, is all he has some days, and she is not cruel enough to ask him to surrender that, not for her sake.)

That doesn't stop her from worrying. She could ask Irene, but, in truth, that is a responsibility she does not want. Not even Charles would, and he knows a thing or too about _curseblessinggifts_. Irene once said- only once, she does not like to  
talk about her power- that once upon a time she had tried to do the right thing, to ensure the best future, but that that was a responsibility too great for a human mind to bear.

(Irene's age is a mystery to her. She does not volunteer the information, and a gentleman never asks and a lady never tells; Raven is either and neither and both all at once, but the conditioning from the first days of her encampment in the Xavier household- before it was the Marko household, when Sharon smiled and laughed and came downstairs before 3 pm- is strong enough that she holds her tongue. She is not sure she wants to know anyway.)

It is dark, and the flickering light from the candles is reflected by the snow, lending the mutant quarter an ethereal, gleaming quality that it lacks during the day, when the pain and hope and pride and desperation seems to ooze from the very buildings that line the poorly maintained streets.

Charles has finished his perimetre check, brows crinkling.  
“Angel,” he says quietly, “Could you be a dear and check out the northwest corner for me? There's a mind that's shielded somehow. I don't recognise it.”

Angel nods seriously and removes her leather jacket, revealing smooth, tanned skin. It glistens in the moonlight, and she shivers.

“We have _got_ to get you a coat, girl,” Raven mutters. Angel flashes her a smile, and rises into the air.


	4. Chapter 4

_  
2010-09-12, “Centreline with Barbara Rogers”. Reproduced here with permission from the ZBT Archives and Callisto Productions.    
_

_Since their discovery in 1962, they have been the monsters, the bogeyman, reviled by many, feared by more. They have been the subject of both intense political debate and scientific scrutiny: even now, despite the groundbreaking Yanshara paper of 2003, there are many who argue that they share so little with Homo sapiens sapien as to be a different species._

 _I refer of course, to the issue of_ mutants _, most of whom- despite the ratification of the Manchester accord in 2008 by the G20- still cannot so much as own a home outside of designated areas. For nearly fifty years, 'separate but equal' has been the rallying cry of activists and politicians on both sides of the aisle, an attitude that some are now suggesting has done nothing but cater to the wishes of extremist groups: both the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants and the Human Protection League have come out strongly in favour of segregatory legislation._

 _One such individual is Charles Xavier, the president and co-founder of the Columbia University Human-Mutant Alliance. Mr Xavier is a masters student in genetics and the proprietor The Coalition for Genetic Diversity, a popular activist website. He joins me now in studio. Thank you for coming, Mr. Xavier._

 _CX:Thank you for having me._

 _BR:Now, this 'Human-Mutant Alliance' has caused quite a stir. Could you tell us a little about it, your motives, that sort of thing?_

 _CX: Well, obviously, I intend to gather a mutant army together in order to enslave all humans telepathically so I can take my rightful place as your god._

 _[silence]_

 _CX: I'm joking, of course, but to hear the rhetoric in the newspapers, one would think that that was my intention._

 _BR: What is you intention?_

 _CX: In 2009 alone- the most recent year we have statistics for- there were over 31000 incidents of so-called 'mutation-based crimes' in the Unites States. Keep in mind, these are just the reported incidents- and of those incidents, over 40% were violent in nature. That's a staggering number._

 _BR: And when you say, 'mutation-based crimes, you refer to what, exactly?_

 _CX: That's the official term, you understand. We at the Coalition prefer to refer to them as hate crimes. After all, one would hardly call a gay-bashing a homosexuality-based crime, but there you are. But yes, to answer your question, that refers to crimes which occur because of or during the use of one's mutation._

 _BR: Obviously some of these crimes are mutant-on-mutant._

 _CX: Yes, but one would be surpised- we estimate that fewer than 6% of these crimes are mutant on mutant, with 14% being mutant- on-human._

 _BR: The remaining percentage is, of course, human-on-mutant._

 _CX: Yes. These include violent acts, as well as your more mundane hate crimes- vandalism, threats, the raiding of mutant bars, that sort of thing._

 _BR: You include legally sanctioned raids into your crime count?_

 _CX: They're violent acts in direct violation of the UN Universal Declaration for Human Rights. Why ever wouldn't we?_

 _BR: Mm. And you believe your organisation can combat this?_

 _CX: We believe that, yes. This conflict is absurd- biologically speaking, we are the same species. It's one of the reasons that the designation of Homo superior is- well, no disrespect intended to Dr Shaw, but its simply not scientifically valid._

 _BR: Oh?_

 _CX:The correct term should be Homo sapiens mutandis- nothing more. We are not a different animal, but a new evolutionary tendril of the same species. This- along with our current definition of 'mutant'- it's nothing more than propaganda._

 _BR: So you keep saying. Mr. Xavier, you refer to 'we'. Your views are shared by your entire organisation?_

 _CX: To varying degrees, yes. My cofounder put it best: they may not all be as enthusiastic as I, but they all drank the kool-aid. Although he was even less tactful about it, if you can believe it._

 _BR: Your co-founder being Tony Stark, of Stark Industries?_

 _CX: Yes. Well. We grew up together, and I- as a mutant and the son of a male mutant- cannot own property that has not been inherited- you understand, Tony is many things but never short of cash- he's the one who leased our headquarters, and between him and our other human members, they keep us going. The rest of us can have a bit of a time of it in the job market._

 _BR: Now, Mr Xavier, if you don't mind, I was hoping to turn the questioning towards yourself for a moment- you were one of the patrons injured in the 2010 raid on Cerebra, is that correct?_

 _[silence]_

 _BR: Mr Xavier?_

 _CX: I don't discuss my personal history.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“ _Matka?_ Are you awake?” Erik said as he got in. “There's been another one.”_

“I know, I know, silly boy, I've been watching the news. Martwię się o Ciebie.”

“I wish you wouldn't, _Matka_. It's bad for your heart.”

His mother smiled, and the shiny pink scar tissue of her face crinkled.

“Stupid boy. I'm your mother, I always worry. You'll have some tea, yes?”

“I should get the twins home, maybe-”

“ _Głupia gęś!_ Tell me, how I raise a son so stupid? Twins are sleeping. They will wake when is time for you to leave.”

Erik sighed. This did nothing to make him feel better.

Ten minutes later, they were settled at the scarred wooden table, his mother watching him with concern.

He rubbed his eyes, which seemed to have been filled with hot sand.

“Erik, why do you not move in here? There's plenty of room, and I could help with the twins-”

Erik groaned. They've had this conversation too many times.

“Because it's not safe for you, mother.” _Don't you remember what happened?_  
“Nonsense,” Edie said brusquely. “You are not a danger to us.”

“It- Matka, it wouldn't be right. How could I justify living like this, here, when my brothers and sisters live the way they do, just because you are my mother? I couldn't.”

Edie smiled. “Such a big heart on you, my boy. There always has been.”

Erik stares at his cup, at the black specks of tea floating in the warm amber liquid, and for a moment he wishes he were 8 again, wishes he was young, wishes he believed in justice and truth and light.

He had always fancied himself a fighter, a soldier, a knight in shining armour- what did it say about him, now, that he stayed?  
That he remained on the force, chasing after an ideal he no longer believed existed?

For a moment, his thoughts flashed back to the boy, his pallor and terror and complete and utter determination. He had been scared, and yet- Erik has read his stuff, but having met him- he can imagine a universe where such a man might do whatever he wanted, might lead with impunity.

In another world, which is not this world, such a man might be king, a philosopher, a revolutionary.

But it is the year of our Lord two thousand and twelve, and the world does not care for philospher-kings. It cares even less for revolutionaries.

He glances out the window and looks at the snow. He wonders what it is like, to believe. He squashes that thought down brutally. He has not asked that question since the fire.

He will never be able to apologise enough to his mother for what he did- for abandoning her in the name of her humanity- but he was young, and angry, and naïve in s strange, frightening way- a way that lead him to meetings, to groups, to attacks on city councils and churches alike.  
They were supposed to send a message. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Least of all Edie.

He could never apologise enough, and the worst part was that he didn't need to.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Charles!”

Charles looked up distractedly. “Kitty- I'm sorry, what can I-”

“-This isn't what we talked about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“They're-” Kitty paused and choked down the sob welling in her throat. “They're making her into a martyr. I don't want that. _She_ wouldn't want that.”

Charles looked pained. “I know. Kitty, I am truly sorry, but-”

“-But what? Call them off! You're like a god to them- they'll listen to you!”

Piotr squeezed her shoulder supportively, and she leaned into the touch.  
“Kitty,” Charles began, his voice weary and _old_ in a way she was not accustomed to, “You know that I can,t do that.”

“Why the HELL not, Charles? She's- For pete's sake, she was _eighteen_ , Charles, this isn't-”

“I know. God, Kitty, do I _know_ , but there are...” he trailed off. Which is good, because if he said 'bigger issues', then Kitty really would have slapped him in the face, chair or no chair.

Kitty let out a frustrated sound, and a few fickle tears squeezed out of her tear ducts, leaving frozen trails across her pale, rounded cheeks.

“Piotr, perhaps you should...” he trailed off, but Kitty heard the implied 'take her home', and any other day she would have taken that moment to lecture Charles on his patriarchal attitude, point out that he _wasn't her father_ , but she was angry and exhausted and her knees felt weak in the middle, and so she leaned more heavily into Piotr's arm as was silent as Pitor said “Da,” and began to steer her towards the east end of the park.

They passed someone who's mutation was apparently making multi-coloured sparks erupt in the air around them, almost but not quite like fireworks, and it was only then that Kitty cried.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late, and the park was nearly empty.

The last stragglers had left a few minutes ago, and the air was thick with cold and the remenants of candle smoke.  
Charles sighed, and lit a cigarette. He was exhausted, and yet- this was the most at peace he had felt all day.

They never had found the new individual he had felt earlier, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up thinking about it.

Maybe if he didn't have the inhibitor, maybe if he hadn't been so tired- but that didn't matter. The mind had been alien, had felt like running into a mirror, there enough that he could sense it's existence- and that ruled out most people who had external devices inhibiting telepaths, police, politicians, members of the mafia- and then gone, pushing him back so gently that he might have though tit was his own idea.

He stubbed out his cigarette, and lit another one. He would go home soon, he would, but he needed a rest. Tenement living- even when said tenement has been manipulated by a mutant with power over inorganic materials to be spacious enough for a half-dozen families, including one wheelchair user and one acquaticly gifted girl without any legs at all- does little for the headaches of a telepath.

He felt the mind before he heard the man. Well, three minds, actually, but the man's was the strongest, all smooth curves and jagged edges, projecting love and anxiety and protection so strongly that Charles suspected even the weakest telepaths in the nearby buildings could pick it up.

He turned in its direction. “Detective Lehnsherr. We meet again.”

The Detective raised his eyebrows, then narrowed his eyes. In his arms were two children, neither over the age of five.

“Xavier. What are you doing out so late? Curfew's in ten minutes.”

Charles smiled. “I was busy. Besides, you'll be breaking the law, too.” He raises an eyebrow.

The corners of the detective's eyes crinkle as he grins. “That'll look great in the papers, 'Mutie scum cop conforms to everyone's expectations'.”

“Oh, now detective, do be fair. Surely that will only be the headline in the _Post_.”

The detective laughs out loud, then immediately looks guilty.

“I should get these guys home to bed,” he says, “Stimulating as this conversation is.”

“Goodnight, Detective.” Charles says with a smile. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

“Goodnight, Xavier. Get your ass inside before the patrol starts, you got it?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Charles called back with a grin.

His good mood lasted all the way back to his building.

That was when he saw the body.

Worse was the note spray-painted onto the building.

There, directly above the dead boy, in lurid red letters:

 _Happy now, Charles?_


End file.
